World On Fire
by sad little tiger
Summary: As the world crumbles around them, Eric and Sookie flee to the oasis of Öland to find themselves... and each other. Coming home isn't always so easy though. Will the ghosts of their pasts destroy their future? Post-Season Five, AU, Eric POV.
1. Demons

Hi everyone! Thanks so much for reading - I really appreciate it. I've been sitting on the bits and pieces of this story for ages (YEARS!) and decided that I needed to get out of my writing rut by publishing. This is my first time writing for this fandom. I've read a lot of Eric/Sookie romance fics with no angst, so this might be a little different for you all (in a good way, I hope!). I'm a sucker for character development and some bitter-sweet pain mixed in my love stories. This picks up just after Season Five; it's AU with elements of canon, all from Eric's point of view. Each chapter is titled after it's theme song. I highly recommend listening to the title track while reading!

I hope you enjoy and please review - I'll respond in the next chapter. Thank you!

Disclaimer: None of the following characters belong to me. They are the creations of Charlaine Harris. I make no profit from this work.

* * *

 _You are the string in my bow._

 _Biblical Mary to Joe._

 _The North isn't true 'til it's leading me to you._

 _You are the way that I know._

 _\- Demons, Dry the River_

* * *

"Where are we goin'?"

I nearly jumped at the sound of her words. It has been two days since she'd spoken to me. Her voice is thin - beaten and worried and tired. Her appearance is much the same - skin sallow and tight, the youthful softness bleeding out hour by hour. She's wilting under all of it, all of this pressure and terror. I can only watch as her petals fold in and give up.

Across from me, our knees a hair's breadth from touching but so carefully _not_ , she sits perfectly still. The tears dried up the night we fled, and now, in a state of perpetual shock, she barely breathes. She's as motionless as one of us.

Sookie's been reduced to a sorry statue of herself.

"Far away," I say, and shake out the New York Times in my hands. "As far away as we can get." I pretend to be reading. In actuality, I'm waiting. Waiting for _her_.

 _Missing persons cases flood police stations across the country, all disappearances blamed on vampires_

 _Public stakings increase ten-fold_

 _Lorn Refrand, so-called "vampire king" of Vermont, calls for peace in Montpelier as human-vampire violence intensifies_

 _Chaos reigns at local blood banks as starving vampires break and enter_

Such ugly times.

My eyes are drawn up by movement. She blinks for the first time in minutes. She's gazing out the window on her right, but I imagine she doesn't see anything. It's a clear night up in the sky - thousands of winking stars and darkness thick enough to cut. The jet's racing six hundred turbulence-free miles per hour, but inside the cabin, it feels like we haven't flown an inch.

"What're we gonna do?" she asks.

And then I can almost see her as a child; a nervous little thing in a butter-yellow dress, her feet swinging under her chair. She stares at me with those luminous brown eyes. I want nothing more than pull her to me, take her into me, reassure her. But I don't. "We're going to hide... _You're_ going to hide," I correct myself.

"What about -" she starts.

"Do not, Sookie. We can't." I keep my tone flat and strong, reaching back, searching desperately for the warrior I've always been.

"You'll stay with me?" Her plaintive voice - the one she saves only for me. With her sweet backwoods accent and all of her big crocodile tears.

I know the answer is _yes_. She knows the answer is _yes_. I won't say it aloud. But it's there, and it hangs between us... this _noose_ of my unfailing loyalty to her.

I'm disgusted with myself.

The arrogant viking, that stalwart prince... he's not there anymore. I've abandoned him. All for a half-breed mortal who has _always_ denied my advances, my protection. Worse, she's denied whatever is left of me that can... _feel_. I remind myself that I can't be fooled by her again. She's cunning and full of tricks; fae magick and light and sex. She's more dangerous to me than whatever Compton has become. I must keep telling myself this, when she's looking in my eyes, when she's begging.

And yet... I'm here. Taking her back to where I belong, back to the one place in this world I might still call home.

The only safe place left.

* * *

 _Under the weight of belief_

 _You shiver and shake like a leaf._

 _But death is a force, not a man on a horse:_

 _I'll keep you safe while you sleep._

* * *

It's just after sundown when I come back to life. I can feel the last rays of light fleeing to other side of the Earth, leaving this place safe and dark. For a long while, I lie quite still staring up at the upholstered lid of the travel coffin and I imagine the time and the country I'll find myself in when I return to the world. My thoughts drift slowly over all that has happened - the Sanguinists, Compton... _Jason Stackhouse_. Jason, you poor bastard. And then I remember Sookie.

Will she speak tonight?

Perhaps a more important question is whether she'd even stayed with me once we'd landed.

She had every reason not to.

My mind reaches out. My blood bond with Sookie ran out nearly a year ago, but I search anyway, confident I'll be able to feel _something_ of her. I encounter a breathing source of heat, roughly one hundred degrees, some distance from me. It's the only thing that's alive in this room.

It must be her.

If not Sookie, who then?

I unlatch the lock and listen to hiss of the light-tight seal releasing. A strange... _sensation_ overtakes me. It's something I haven't felt in centuries. Something I don't have a word for anymore. An anticipation of sorts. A kind of desire mixed with a bit of dread.

Could it be hope? _Hope._

What would a creature who has lived over a thousand years possibly _hope_ for?

I push the lid up, peeking just over the edge of the coffin in the direction of all that heat.

It _is_ her.

She's watching me. Her jaw clenches and her chest rises with each breath; the rest of her though, is perfectly still. Exactly as I left her on the flight. She doesn't speak; just stares at me... through me with those haunted dark eyes. I see she hasn't changed clothes, hasn't showered. I wonder if she's moved at all.

Is she immobile out of fear, maybe? The belief that he could follow us, even here, to Sweden, in daylight?

Something ancient and human tells me to comfort her. It should be so easy: _I'm sorry you lost another family member to the greed and violence of my kind... and yours, dear heart. I've stolen you away, to keep you safe. I'll meet the true death defending you. I'll care for you while you grieve._

Or it could be as simple as _It will be okay, Sookie_.

But those words won't come. Nothing will come. The wounds we've inflicted on each other over these years still bleed. I'm muzzled by the past - by the angry rejections and the proclamations of hate and the threats we've both made. It's shameful. I sit up, and look away, scratching my head until my hair falls in my face. I can hear her shift in her seat - her muscles stiff and painful, having waited so patiently for me to wake.

We sit like this for an eternity, my back to her, her unblinking eyes on me, the horrible silence between us.

As instructed, the flight crew delivered us to a resort just outside of Gothenburg for the remainder of the day. It's a luxurious room, by human standards. The walls are a garnet so deep and rich one might fall in and the lighting is strategically moody, glittering in the reflection of a few conspicuously-placed mirrors. The four-poster bed, draped with ridiculous million-or-so-count Egyptian sheets and piled high with goose-down pillows, is romantic, I'm sure. And the double sinks, with their artfully exposed pipes and pounded-metal bowls, reveal the nature of this room.

A honeymoon suite.

This is hardly a honeymoon.

I make a noise as if to clear my throat, though I haven't needed to do so for lifetimes. "We're going to my farm on Öland. It's an island that runs north to south... just off the coast... We'll be... secluded there for the most part..." I trail off. My voice is awkward and unnecessary.

She doesn't respond. She's a wall.

I get up and shower.

* * *

 _Everything moves in slow-motion._

" _Bill! Please!" Her screams echo. The truck's diesel engine growls. "Please!"_

 _She throws her hands out, her fingers spread, her arms rigid with desperation. But it doesn't matter._

 _It's too late and nothing will come._

 _No light. No power._

 _She'd tapped out the well of her magic days before in a childish fit of resentment._

 _Jason closes his eyes._

 _He's dead before he hits the ground._

 _I know she wishes more than anything that it had been her._

 _I know that feeling so well._

* * *

I dislike the silence. I can hear all of her body's inner workings in this suffocating quietness. I can hear her stomach, empty and eating itself over her grief. I can hear her heart murmur and her sad lungs and the way one of her smallest ribs cracks when she breathes too deeply. I can hear _everything_.

It's enough to drive me insane. I want her to speak, to acknowledge me... to _anything_. Anything but this. If she would just talk, even incessantly, like she usually does... I would give anything to listen to her prattle on about the idiocies of human life, about Bill Compton, about something.

But she doesn't. She's a little doll. Stuffed and silent and stiff.

I don't believe Sookie Stackhouse has ever been so dead as she is right now.

The car rumbles over gravel and grass; the roads near my home have grown rocky with disuse. I fight a pang of regret. This is my birthplace, my motherland, and it's been decades since my last visit... perhaps more. I think of my parents then - soaking in a pool of their own blood. I think of the time and the emotions, now all distant and dull - other than the flames of vengeance, which still burn in me.

I think of how she must feel - alone now, with no one in the world.

I look up at her. She blinks slowly.

It's the longest car ride of my life.

* * *

She stands in the entryway and stares. Her eyes touch the loft above us, the stairs, the empty kitchen. She swallows, and says nothing.

The driver carries in my bags and her one belonging - a jacket. He leaves it all there, next to her - Sookie the Mannequin. He quietly shuts the front door behind him and then it's only us.

I shrug off my overshirt and toss it to a chair.

"I'm sure you're hungry... I don't think Elsa leaves food here...," I say, if only to fill the silence. I haven't had to request _human needs_ of my servants for centuries. There's the issue of sustenance, and warmth... and _waste_. Do I even have a toilet on the premises? I can't recall. There was no time for preparation; we had to leave immediately.

Having a mortal so close, so needy, will be a challenge.

"I can call on my governess..." I stop to correct myself, realizing how long it's been since something alive was in my care. "I can call my... _housekeeper_ , if you'd like... Although it is -" I check my watch. "Three in the morning."

Sookie turns her head, listens to me over her shoulder. She doesn't reply, and I don't know whether she's truly heard me. Perhaps she doesn't hear anything over the grief in her mind.

I can see her clearly here, in the in-between light of the moon. Her clothes are stained and soiled with dirt and blood. Her hair, pulled back from her face at the crown, falls in waves to her shoulders. It's unkempt and tangled, the color of straw.

"Would you like to shower?" I'm certain I have a shower. Perhaps not a toilet, but definitely a shower. What to do if there's not a toilet? I think that maybe there is a toilet - there _must_ be. I left renovation oversight to a human. Surely a human would think to include a toilet, or a bidet... even an _outhouse_ in the plans.

And then she collapses to the floor.

* * *

She comes around slowly in my arms. I feel it in her legs first - the muscles twitching delightfully, fitfully... like a puppy, fast asleep. And then her head lolls to the left, to the right, her pretty brow furrowing. Soon after, her breathing hitches... and eventually, she snorts herself awake in my hands. If Sookie wasn't in such a sorry state, I might have smiled, perhaps even laughed.

I walk slowly down the path, away from the cottage, in the light of a thousand cold stars. The branches of green trees shade us, the moon dappling her face, reflecting in her wide dark eyes, like a little fawn. I look down at her and she relaxes, the grip she has on me easing.

For the first time in our true history... she trusts me. Total, unquestioning faith in a being that might decide the _taste_ of her is worth more than her life.

It almost aches.

 _I'll watch over you while you grieve._

* * *

I take her to the only place I know that might bring her back - the deep hot springs of my island. The _lithia_ water here bubbles up eternally; I could smell it the minute we arrived on Öland. Salts and sulfur and earth. It's the scent of home. It's the scent of peace.

There's a ledge, from which I once dove as boy, before the death of my parents, before the wars, before the voyage to America. The rocks here have been worn smooth by centuries spent in the lazy run of the warm, potent water. I bring Sookie to the edge of the pool, pulling my shirt up over my head, letting my jeans fall to my feet.

She glances at my nakedness and then away. I ease into the spring, feeling the roil of it up my legs, over my thighs. I reach for her. Carefully, I untie her tennis shoes, one at a time, and work them off her delicate feet. She lets me unzip her dirty sweatshirt and push it from her shoulders. I move slowly to the fly of her pants. She doesn't stop me.

I muse, somewhat somberly, on how a few days earlier, this would have been a conquest of unparalleled proportions. I feel guilty about it now. Guilt makes me uncomfortable, as I suppose it should. It's a rare and fleeting emotion and it cuts through me, shocks me.

Sookie doesn't help me as I undress her. She's still and soft in my hands, not an ounce of fight left in her, like she's not the real Sookie... her insides gutted, her body a just shell. Her bra - a simple black thing - unclasps in the front. My hands tremble and I curse the willfulness of my cock. I slip careful fingers under the straps and help them down her arms until the garment lays with the rest of her clothes.

I can't sure how long my self-control will hold up, and so I decide to leave the panties, barely daring to even look at the cut of them.

My fangs descend of their own accord as I carry her into the water. I feel her stiffen.

"I won't," I whisper.

She stares at me - guileless and sorrowful. I'm struck then, by the weight of everything she's endured, even at my hands. I look away, the points of my fangs pricking the inside of my lip.

Her feet disappear first into the shadowy pool and then the rest of her, up to her creamy throat. I pull her across my lap, hold her tightly against my chest. She closes her eyes and lets me be with her this way.

We bathe there, under the ledge I loved as a boy.

She exists somewhere between life and sleep in my arms. I watch her and feel the spring healing us both.

Only the moon knows where we hide.

* * *

She stands in my kitchen with her bare feet and her wet hair, a heavy blanket around her shoulders. She shivers and doesn't speak.

I've shown her the bedroom up in the loft. And we discovered the bathroom does indeed have a toilet.

But she doesn't lie down on the bed; she follows me back out to the parlor and waits. Silent.

I roll up the old Turkish rug, push it to the farthest wall.

The trap door creaks when I lift it - just as I remember.

There's nothing to really speak of beneath - no king-sized bed, no motion-sensor track lighting, no floating staircase. It's nothing like my room back in Bon Temps.

It's only a furrow in the dirt - shallow and small, like a rabbit's nest.

It's _home_.

She curls up, her back to my chest. I listen to her breathe and smell the earth. She's warm and her heat sinks deep into me - all the way to my bones.

I have never prayed to a single god before. I haven't prayed to anything in centuries. But I pray on this morning... that she'll return from where ever she is.

I take Sookie to ground with me and hope she'll come back to life.

* * *

 _We fight those demons day in and day out,_

 _Day in and day out, day in and day out_

 _And fight those demons day in and day out_

 _Day in and day out, day in and day out_


	2. Simple Joys

_I was built from the cold of man_

 _With the hands of Marquis de Sade_

 _A cruel facade_

 _If I could somehow spend another day with you_

 _I'd pluck out the eyes of God._

 _I would live in the time of hours_

 _In the days when the earth was green_

 _My love machine_

 _Though I bear no mark of war upon me now_

 _Oh, the things I've seen._

 _\- Simple Joys (4 Roy & Pris), Beautiful Small Machines_

* * *

I turn over lazily - half-awake. The ground next to me has grown cold. I'm alone in the furrow. Hazy yellow light seeps through the cracks between my ancient floorboards.

She's up.

There's that... sensation again in my stomach. I feel weak and alive. I haven't fed in over two days... surely, it's just hunger. _Surely_...

The trapdoor squeaks as I push it, the hinges rusty and unused. I'm shaky as I pull myself up to sitting.

"Sookie?" I call, softly at first - she's been through enough. There's no reply. I reach out with all my hyper-senses. The kitchen, the foyer, the parlor, finally the loft. Nothing. Her heat is absent.

"Sookie?" I ask again, standing now on unsteady legs. I'm starving. My voice has a frantic edge to it, and that bothers me, in fact it pisses me off to no end. What the fuck should I care about that half-breed? She's ruined my life. The entirety of it - gone! the very second she waltzed into Fangtasia with that degenerate Bill.

Maybe she's gone... perhaps she left in the day, never to come back. Maybe she's decided she's put me through more than my fair share of agony. Maybe she's grown a conscious.

She destroyed me. She destroyed everything I'd worked so hard to put into place.

None of that seems to matter now that she's missing.

"Sookie!" I tear through the bungalow, throwing open closet doors and cabinets, thundering up the stairs. I can smell her on everything, but she's not here. I rip the covers from the bed.

Nothing. Not even a trace of warmth where her body would have been.

I step away from it, until I'm moving back down the stairs, my legs barely my own. If I had a living heart, it would be pounding and my blood would be rushing in my ears. I would hear myself gasp and my lungs would burn as I held my breath. But I don't have any of those things... not anymore. All I am left with is the awful silence of an empty house on the edge of the world.

I didn't sense a struggle or feel her terror... no. This wasn't an abduction - no scent of Bill, or any other vampire, or even another human. Just her. She's everywhere and nowhere at all.

I stand in the living room, my mind dizzy with the million possibilities of her whereabouts. I feel as if I'll suffocate... I feel as if I really am breathing and it's too much... I fought so hard for her, I would continue to fight for her. She could never know - _not ever_ \- how much I... how much I...

I open the front door; I might be able to track her still. I might be able to follow her trail.

The light of the house floods out from behind me.

And there she is.

Sookie turns, huddled up on the porch steps. She pulls the blanket tightly around herself. "Hey," she says quietly.

I blink at her. The fury of one thousand years boils up inside of me. "Get in the house," I order, my voice low.

She stares up at me, her golden hair a stringy mess. In the yard, crickets chirp. Stars are just peaking out against the dark purple sky. But all I see is her. She stands slowly. I don't register fear... but she should be _very_ afraid of me.

"Get in... _the fucking house_."

"Don't talk to me like that, Eric," she snaps.

Before she can react, I have her by her skinny arm and yank her inside. The door slams in my wake. I shove her into the living room where she wrenches herself free of me, the blanket dropping to the floor. I tower over her, daring her to test my patience again.

Her chest heaves... but she's not angry, and she's not terrified. Her eyes grow watery. She rubs them, trying very hard not to shatter.

"Sookie," I start, gently now.

She shakes her head, the tears wetting her face, her fingers. She looks down and away from me.

"You can't... don't go out of range. Don't even open the door." I try to explain myself, my panic, but I flounder. I suddenly feel illogical, irrational... somehow emotional. "Bill may try... He might have followed, and -"

"I wish he would," she blurts out, sobbing. "I wish he'd kill me too!"

I seize her by the shoulder then, my fingers ripping the fabric of her shirt in my anger. I push her almost to her knees. She gasps at my power and looks up at me with betrayed eyes, hanging limply in my grip. Unconscious, my fangs descend. I feel the full effect of my starvation and I fight myself to keep from opening up her throat and letting her blood pour out like a fountain of ambrosia.

"Would you care if it were me? I'm _dying_ to do the honors," I growl, holding her inches from my face. Her wet lashes flutter on her pale cheeks.

Teeth clenched nearly to the point of cracking, I manage: "I am doing everything in my power to save _you_... I have crossed continents to hide _you_... I have turned my back on everything I have ever loved to spare your one, sad life... And you _will_ live... You will live because I demand it."

I release her and she drops to the floor unceremoniously. The shock on her pretty face is almost enough to make me laugh. For two or three seconds, our encounter doesn't seem to register... but when it hits, she begins kicking, her bare feet catching me painlessly in the shins, the knees. She's halfway up then, pounding at my thighs with her fists. She roars at me in the way only she's allowed.

A few shy knocks at the front door snap her out of her rage.

Sookie stops, her hands now clinging to my waist instead of punching. I reach down, touching her hair, as much for my own reassurance as hers.

"Eric," she hisses.

Whoever is at the door raps again, a little louder this time.

"Bill wouldn't knock," I say, gently prying her hands off me. I admit though, a part of me hesitates.

I pad across the floor, silent, and press my ear to the old wood of the door. Many heartbeats - quick and tense. I glance back at Sookie. She's where I left her, shaking her head. Her hair falls in her face and she almost looks like herself. I have to force my eyes away.

"Vem där?" I ask. _Who's there?_

"Vänner," a man replies. _Friends._ There is a shifting of feet, a shuffling, some whispers in Swedish. It sounds like the entire village is on my front stoop.

My hand hovers just above the locks that line the edge of the door.

"Vänner med gåvor, Prins Erik," the voice adds. _Friends with gifts, Prince Eric._

When I finally do open the door, I find that most of village _is_ truly in my front yard, and even more cars are pulling up on the property. Men, women, children. They crowd around the house, silent and wide-eyed... perhaps reverent. Their arms are laden down with bags and boxes. They look at me and peer around me into the house... and I realize that for most of these people - perhaps even all of them - it is the first time in a generation that they have seen me.

"Mat, hem varor, kläder för flickan..." the leader, a man perhaps sixty years old, explains. _Food, home goods, clothes for the girl._ He gestures to the thirty or so humans all over the lawn, with their fascinated, silent stares.

"Och något bara för dig..." he continues, as a beautiful young woman steps up besides him. _And something just for you..._

She extends her arm, offering her wrist to me. I can smell her fear and excitement, I can see the blood rushing through her veins. My mouth itches and it takes all of my strength not to pin her to the ground and eat her alive. I remember, with more than a little embarrassment, that my fangs are still descended. I retract them and the _pop_ startles the girl. She jumps.

"Inte än, Hanna" the man chides. _Not yet, Hanna._ She snaps her arm back then, covering it with the sleeve of her over-sized sweatshirt.

At a loss for any coherent words, I do nothing but stand stupidly in the doorway. I cast a glance back at Sookie, who has crept closer to me, her curiosity getting the best of her.

"Tack... Tacka er alla," I stammer. _Thank you... Thank all of you._ "Mitt folk," I add. _My people._

* * *

"Thank you." I shake another hand. "Du bör inte ha brytt sig. För snäll." _You should not have bothered. Too kind._

The crowd, thank gods, has dispersed for the most part. A seemingly endless line of humans wandering through the little cottage, leaving prized family possessions and cured meats and cheeses and clothes on the tiny kitchen table. I thank them all profusely at the front door. The elders bow or curtsey as best they can. The others file in behind them, more eager to touch one of the oldest monsters on Earth than to pay homage to my long-forgotten heroics. Their little ones gather around their legs, hiding behind parents and grandparents, and gazing up at me... the mythical Vampire Prince of Öland. I smile for them, fangless and domesticated.

"Tack så mycket," I whisper to a woman so old her skin feels like parchment. _Thank you so much._ I lift her fragile fingers to my lips and kiss her knuckles. I notice the silver band on her ring finger... and that she comes to me alone now. Her eyes are a hazy, half-blind blue and her hair is covered by a peasant's scarf in the old way. I linger, holding her hands in my own far longer than she expects.

"Jag minns," she tells me in a weak voice. "Jag minns." _I remember._

"Jag är hemma," I say, searching her watery eyes. _I am home._

She brings a hand to her mouth, nodding and teary-eyed, and then she reluctantly lets me go. I watch as she shambles out, and I slowly close the door behind her.

Sookie had hidden herself in the loft while the procession had weaved through the house. First, she peaks out from around the ancient Shoji screen in front of the bed, and then she comes to the top of the floating staircase, her arms crossed protectively over herself.

"Are they gone?" she asks in a whisper, her eyes wide.

But in the kitchen, the girl - Hanna - stands, wringing her hands in the yellow light above the stove. Her face is full and soft, dusted with freckles barely a shade darker than her moon-pale skin. She's very young - younger than I had thought. Perhaps 18, 20 at most. I salivate, I can't help it; my strength dwindles. She watches me closely, flinching at my every movement.

My gaze volleys between both of them. I shake my head at Sookie, strangely embarrassed by what I have to do. The thirst though... it burns and aches inside of me. I just want Sookie to leave, to turn away... I can't do this in front of her. I don't think... I don't think my fangs will even descend as long as she watches.

"My father tells me you're a good vampire," Hanna says in English.

Sookie's mouth opens - I think perhaps, that she's going to deliver some scathing last word, maybe scare my meal off. She doesn't though. She just narrows her eyes, her face a mask of disgust. I have to look away.

I feel empty.

And then anger washes over me - I've let a _human_ gut me. I have _never_ been ashamed of who I am. _Never._

Sookie stands on the edge of the loft, glaring. And then she turns, disappearing back into the darkness, an aura of rage left in her place. She hates me. She hates everything that I am.

"In Öland, I am a good vampire, yes," I say to Hanna, shoving my hands in my pockets, trying to appear as harmless and self-controlled as possible... despite the need in me thrashing around like a caged lion. Despite the shame rotting away at my resolve. "Have you ever done this before?"

She shakes her head.

I take a step towards her and extend my hand. She's reluctant.

"It's like... making love," I explain in my gentlest voice. _I'm not a monster._

She looks down. Her heart beats fast and desperate.

"Ah," I say, understanding. "I'll be especially careful then." _I'm not one of Sookie's toys._

She rolls up her sleeve and I have to look away, fighting the urge to attack. "Will it hurt?"

"Not the way you imagine."

"How will you know when to stop?" She offers her arm to me.

"I only take what I need." My fangs descend. She gasps. "And a vampire as old as I am... doesn't need much." _I'm not a slave to my hunger._

She takes a step back. "You promise not to hurt me?"

"I swear it." _I'm not weak. I'm not like Bill, or Alcide. I'm nothing like them._

She hesitates, but surrenders when I kiss the inside of her wrist.

I gratefully drink, taking long, slow pulls from the freckled girl.

In half an hour, she's gone... the only evidence of me, a giddiness - not unlike the feeling of a first kiss, a first orgasm.

I almost smile imagining what she'll tell her friends.

I don't though. I don't smile at all.

I feel like a spineless miscreation for the first time in all my life.

* * *

"Have you eaten?" I call to her, sitting at the base stairs. I don't dare climb them.

She doesn't reply. I rest my head on the banister, feeling more myself than I have in the past few nights.

"Sookie, you must. They've brought you... whatever it is humans eat. Come down and see."

I hear the old canopy bed creak. She must be sitting up at least.

As poorly as she's made me feel, I can't allow her to starve herself. I've wasted too much time, too much energy on her. I stand and walk to the kitchen table. The food and home goods are piled so high that I don't know where to start. Meats and dairy products, their congealed stench nauseating me, vacuum-sealed chunks of something... perhaps fish or shark, marinated in some herb-flecked oil. Mercifully odorless jarred fruit and pickled vegetables from the recent harvest, I'm sure.

I picked up a bag, sealed tightly. Memories rush back to me, unbidden. So vivid and true they're almost real.

 _The smell of salted Skreið hung from branches, drying in the wind. Laughter and shouting as we weave among the fish. Warm butter dripping from my fingertips... I lick them clean as I run, a fish scale irritates my tongue. I spit it out just as my brother pushes me... We laugh and laugh... and the sun shines on my bare back... the sun._

"What is that?"

I blink. "I'm sorry?" She wakes me from the dream.

"What's in your hand?" Her arms are still crossed. But she's there - in the kitchen with me.

I look at the bag and toss it back into the pile of offerings. "I don't remember. I don't know. It's been lifetimes since..." I think to make her feel disgusted with herself, maybe shame _her_ for eating corpses... or for calling the rotten, moldy breast milk of a completely different animal a _cheese_. Misery so loves company.

"Why did they bring all this?" She looks over the gifts.

"It's for you."

She stares up at me then. Her hair is still a mess. I want to touch her, but I don't. She swallows.

"Why would they do this?"

"You're my guest. It's a tradition here."

"Because you're the prince?" Her voice drips with that special brand of Southern sarcasm.

I trip over my own words, trying to deny the title. "No... no, that's only -"

"That's what he said. He called you _Prince Eric_. I heard him." Her eyes are huge and playful, all of the anger from before gone.

I would give anything to keep her this way - unspoiled, curious, fearless. Sookie.

"It's just a formality," I try.

"Uh-huh..." She's disbelieving as she takes a bite of a sausage. "Damn, this is _good_."

* * *

I watch her eat for over an hour. I could watch her eat all night.

She's tried a little of everything. Most of it she has declared delicious, some of it made her gag. I quite enjoy her reactions to my country's traditional foods.

"What kind of berries are these?" she asks with a mouthful of them. They stain the inside of her wet lips.

"Lingonberries."

She digs through the pile, looking for more experiences before she's even chewed what she's bitten off. "This?" She holds up a ziploc bag full of little, braised discs. I lean in, feeling the bag. It's still warm from the pan.

"Hmm... Kroppkakor, perhaps?"

"What the hell is that?" She opens the bag anyway and reaches in. Before I can tell her what they are, she's got one in her mouth. She sinks her teeth in and the flavor hits her. She rolls her eyes in ecstasy. "Oh my God... little fried potato clouds... Sweet Jesus." She eats another, groaning her pleasure. She takes a gulp of water. "Your people can cook, Eric. I mean... they can _really_ cook," she gushes.

Her skin is flushed and glowing. She yammers on about nothing at all - switching between asking me questions she barely gives me time to answer and raving about the food. She only pauses to pull her hair back. She even runs her hands over it, smoothing it out... _caring_ about something, the way she used to. I see her come to life before my eyes.

I'm excited.

I hate myself for it.

"I been thinkin' about Bill all day... I just don't see how he'll ever come back, you know? I never took him for the religious type. It's bizarre..."

I nod as she talks. Joy, sadness, fear, hope. I've felt it all in one night. More emotions than I have had in the past 100 years.

I am a pendulum, swinging back and forth at her whim.

* * *

"I'm so full..." she complains, pushing her chair out from the tiny kitchen table. "Ugh... why'd you let me do that..."

Our eyes meet in the dim light. A clock on the wall ticks.

"I must go to ground soon," I say to fill the silence between us.

"Yeah. Maybe I'll take a shower."

I want to say something perverse, like old times. But I worry I'll send her back inside if I do. It's too soon... It's too soon to be myself.

"Could you... maybe stay up until I'm done?" Her voice is childish and small. She's suddenly uncomfortable. She tries to talk her way out of the sensation, as she always does. "I'll be quick. It won't take long-"

"Go on, Sookie."

I don't move while the water runs and the old pipes creak in the walls. I don't even move when she shuts the water off. I'm too afraid of what I might do.

* * *

She stands next to the hatch as I crawl in. She's in my boxers and one of my black shirts, even though the village brought her more appropriate clothes. Her wet hair is finally combed and pulled over a shoulder where she plays with the ends.

"Do not leave the house. Not even to sit on the porch." I point at her.

She sighs in reluctant agreement.

"Do not let anyone in."

"Eric, com'on." Unimpressed.

"I'm serious."

"I know."

"And don't even think of hurting yourself."

She takes a step back. It hurts me to say it, but it must be said.

"I _won't_ ," she snaps, her upper lip curling. And I believe her, because just like that, the old indignant Sookie Stackhouse is standing in my kitchen, ready to do battle with a viking king. "Good _fucking_ morning, Eric Northman."

I cannot help the smile when she slams the trap door.

 _Welcome back, Sookie. Welcome back._

* * *

 _There's a place for us my dear_

 _Where the daughters of Orion sing_

 _Oh, where a man can live without the cloud of fear_

 _Choking everything._

 _Keep me far away from all the noise_

 _I just caught the last boat out of hell_

 _I don't know the joy of simple joys I'm not feeling well_

 _But I'll sit real still, if you don't tell._

* * *

 _SouthernGaTrubie - Thank you for all of your support and kind words, on and off FF. You are so talented (and prolific)! I hope I continue to hold your interest... especially as Sookie and Eric evolve._

 _ashmoo2000 - Thank you! I hope I haven't disappointed!_

 _bttflybelle - Did I clear anything up for you with this_ _chapter? I know I probably introduced a few more questions in this chapter. Hope you enjoyed it!_

 _pnwer - Thank you so much!_

 _Nicolle1977 - Thank you! I hope that you enjoyed this chapter and that my good start keeps you reading!_

 _Perfecta999 - I hope that you continue to like the story. :)_

 _Takemetoaquietplace - I'm going to stay in Eric's POV. I feel like the story needs to be told in his voice. I'm glad you like it so far!_

 _To all my guest reviewers - Thank you so much for your reviews!_


	3. Bad In Each Other

_Speak plainly, he said_

 _But didn't see_

 _He acted that way_

 _And held me like a cup._

 _Fill me up then pour me out;_

 _Therein lies the doubt._

 _We had the same feelings_

 _At opposite times._

 _When a good man and a good woman_

 _Can't find the good in each other,_

 _Then a good man and a good woman_

 _Will bring out the worst in the other,_

 _The bad in each other._

 _\- Bad In Each Other, by Fiest_

* * *

I'm awake.

It's sometime in the mid-morning.

And I'm miraculously, unfathomably awake.

Awake and about to bleed from every fucking orifice.

I was vaguely aware of Sookie earlier but now I am... _acutely_ aware of Sookie. Her hands are clawing at my chest, my throat. She's trying to strangle me. I grab both of her wrists, stilling her. She pants, terrified, her hot breath fanning over my face. Through the slats in the floorboards, tiny rays of sun pass over, just above us, where the rug should have been for my protection. My death is inches away.

"What the hell are you doing?" I ask between my gritted teeth.

"There's someone here! Someone's at the door!" she hisses.

"What?" I whisper.

"Somebody's tryin' to get in the-" My hand is over her loud mouth before she can finish the thought. Slowly, I bring a finger to my lips.

 _Shut... the fuck up_.

She nods in understanding, her dark eyes enormous and glassy.

The both of us turn our heads to listen.

There are footsteps in the hallway, then in the parlor. The blush I so adored the night before has drained from Sookie's face; she's pale with fear and her poor heart pounds, almost drowning out all other noise. I'm not faring any better - my fangs are down and bared of their own accord, and every muscle in me is tense for the war I'm certain I'm about to get into.

The footfalls grow ever closer... closer... A limp. The assassin has a _limp_. I let go of Sookie's mouth. She grasps at my arms, shaking her head furiously, her big eyes imploring me, begging me not to leave her.

I stop her trembling hands in my own, moving so slowly, trying to keep from making a sound as we struggle in the dry earth. We stare at each other; dust floats through the floorboards and glitters all around us as it catches the morning sun. I can feel the heat of the day... I can feel my skin begin to burn. My fingers hurt from clinging to her so desperately. Sookie holds her breath.

And time just... freezes.

I can't see anything but her. I can't feel anything but her. I can't think of anything... but making love to her, that night when Bill released me.

The assassin is nearly on top of us now. And it's day. And I'm weak.

I'm going to lose. I'm going to die fighting whoever he's sent after us. I'm going to roast to death in my own kitchen.

But... I might be able to save her.

Please gods... spare her. _Spare her_.

"Prins?" _Prince?_ A woman's voice. An older woman. She hobbles around above us, the limp very pronounced. There's a thud as she drops the antique rug over the trap door and then rolls it out into place. Sookie jumps and burrows further into me.

My body feels like gelatin. I sigh with relief. "Ja, Elsa. Var här." _Yes, Elsa. We're here._ I push Sookie away gently. She's still trembling. "It's fine... it's my housekeeper."

Sookie's not convinced. She doesn't move.

"Her name is Elsa. Speak slowly." I look at her, waiting for a response. "Yes? Okay?" I nod my head, modeling an appropriate reaction for her.

"She's only human?" Sookie whispers, as if the woman wasn't standing right on top of us.

"Only human. One hundred percent."

She sighs.

"You have to be quick or I'll burn." I help her lift the trap door and she squeezes out into the daylight. I watch through the cracks in the floor boards as he gets to her feet and brushes off her thighs.

"Elsa... Sookie Stackhouse - min gäst." _My guest._ I see Sookie cross her arms. The corners of her lips twitch into a half-smile for my governess, who must be standing someplace near. "Hon är... speciell för mig, ja? Låt inte henne ur sikte."

 _She's... special to me, yes? Don't let her out of your sight._

* * *

I rise after seven that night... and I feel clear-headed for the first time in a week.

There are signs and sounds of life all around. A record plays - Elvis crooning _It's Now Or Never_. I feel that the house is warmer now, and the scent of antiseptic cleaner perfumes the air. There's something else too - a sort of nauseating smell of flesh having been burned earlier. It's smoky and greasy.

Bacon, I think.

I stand and every bone in me seems to crack in protest. If I'm going to stay here much longer, I need to do something about the sleeping arrangements. I nudge the trap door shut with my foot, and then roll the rug out again.

A brush scrubs the floor in the bathroom, the bristles grating over grout and tile. Elsa must be working hard. I make a mental note to compensate her for staying so late with Sookie; I'd been concerned. I walk past the door, into the living room, where I see a fire has been lit in the old hearth.

Slippered feet are propped up on the old coffee table, swaying in time to Elvis's voice.

"Sookie?"

The feet suddenly thrash, nearly overturning a cup of tea. The bone china rattles.

"Prins Eric," Elsa says, clearing her throat. She stands quickly to face me. She must be in her sixties now - nearly all grey hair, pinned back in a messy little bun, her hands callused and gnarled from years of house work, her face lined from days spent in the Swedish sun and snow. She's aged so much since I last saw her; she was a girl then, a new bride and a young mother. How strange a thing... to _grow old_. Looking at her this way, I wonder at the sensation, at the changes I might have gone through had I made it out of that long-forgotten battle alive.

"Sir?" she asks then, breaking up my thoughts.

I note, with a little dismay, that she's... wearing one of my silk bath robes over her own clothes.

I blink. "Elsa..." I acknowledge her slowly. "Var är Sookie?" _Where is Sookie?_

The music is maddenly loud in the living room. She can't hear me over it. She looks terrified. I walk to the record player and pull up the needle. Elvis is cut off in the middle of the _"Kiss me, my darling"_ line.

"Hey! What happened to the music?" Sookie shouts from the bathroom.

I turn to Elsa, my eyebrows raised. "Sookie städar?" _Sookie's cleaning?_

Elsa glances up at my face, guilty. "Hon insisterade, din nåd." _She insisted, your grace._

"Music?" Sookie calls out. She's in the hall now. "Uh... _musik_?" she tries with her terrible version of a Swedish accent. Sing-song, like the Chef from the fucking Muppets. And then she's in the doorway to the living room, a wet toilet brush in her kitchen-gloved hand. "Oh. Eric." Less than enthused.

I cast a frown at Elsa and then take Sookie by the arm around the corner.

"What are you doing?" I ask.

She waves the toilet brush at me; I back away from her, disgusted. "What's it look like?" She laughs, a little incredulous.

"I pay her for that. I pay her very well to _clean_ ," I whisper, accusing. What good is a housekeeper if she leaves the work to the employer... and his guests?

"Shame on you, Eric Northman," she growls in my face. "She's a little old lady. Makin' her get down on her poor hands and knees to scrub a hundred years of dirt from your _vacation house_." The last bit, about it being a vacation house, she says with venom.

"Truly? Shame on me? For over-compensating her for decades of her life? Providing for her family?"

Sookie flinches at my defense. The toilet brush dangles from her hand almost comically.

"Are you suggesting I terminate her employment then? Pay you perhaps?"

"No. I'm sayin' you should continue to pay her because it's the right damn thing to do."

"While _you_ do all of the housework?"

"Eric," she blurts out, frustrated. Her fingers ball up into fists. "Sometimes you don't profit from doin' the right thing... you just gotta do it anyways."

She's back in the bathroom, the door shut, before I can argue.

Not that I _could_ argue when memory from nearly three hundred years ago takes me away.

* * *

 _1771_

Nora hiked up her skirts and petticoat, tip-toeing through the red puddles that were coagulating on the decks of the pirate ship. It was of no use though - the hem of her beautiful gown was already ruined, stained black with the death we'd caused. She giggled as the blood sloshed and splashed with the rise and fall of the ocean, and she tapped her way across the saturated wood.

"It was a decent fight," Godric said, staring up at the clear night sky. The stars were in the millions this far from land, no other light to dim their shine.

"Yes," I agreed. "Too decent." My side, hacked open by one of the pirate's swords, had barely stitched itself back together, even with all of the healing blood I'd gulped down. I winced, feeling it's progress with my hand.

"I wonder... when they'll realize that a boy, a girl, and a very comely brute are strange bed fellows for a ship like this..." Godric said dreamily.

He was referring, of course, to our killing spree. We'd been _taken hostage_ on nine pirate crafts now, and we'd slaughtered every last soul. It was a simple if not accidental plot that had begun a month or so earlier: we had been stowed away on a ship to the New World, a ship which was attacked by pirates while we slept in our coffins under the decks. When we awoke, we reclaimed the ship, which some days later was intercepted by yet another gang of pirates, and so it went... Every few nights, a replenished pantry. It seemed almost too easy - humans though weren't the exactly the wiliest game, particularly when greed blinded them.

I knew, in time, we'd become a sort of legend, the three of us - a Viking prince, a sickly pale beauty, and a sallow little boy, all festooned in blood-soaked garments. We would be something the seafaring folk would only dare whisper about.

"I'm so full I can barely move..." Nora laughed, her voice lazy with satiated lust.

Godric smiled at her, the smile of a father. Everything Nora did was magical. She was his _childe_ , his darling little girl. He clapped for her as she danced a blood-drunk jig, his own foot keeping time from where he reclined.

I was his favorite though. And I would be until the day he met the True Death.

Turning from them, I picked up one of the dead man's telescopes and extended it. I put my eye to the glass and peered through. A good distance away - how far exactly I couldn't tell as I'd refused to get used to those new-fangled sailing devices - a ship was burning. Great plumes of fire shot up into the night sky... and a smaller boat - a dinghy - was rowing away, cutting little white caps from the ocean in its wake.

"Interesting," I said, mostly to myself.

"What? What's interesting?" Nora piped up.

Godric pulled himself to sitting, wheezing as his distended stomach ached. "I should not have indulged so," he groaned. "What is it, Eric?"

"I can't be sure... but it looks like second course," I smiled.

* * *

"Hurry! Faster!" Godric urged as we approached.

By the time I'd turned the damn ship starboard, it was nearing dawn. Nora complained nearly constantly of her cold, wet dress. I wanted to smack her. I _always_ wanted to smack her, unless I was fucking her, in which case, I still wanted to smack her, only _harder_.

Parts of the abandoned ship were still glowing hot as we approached, but most of it was smoldering - the flames subdued by the sea water that sprayed in on the waves. I batted away the heavy smoke, clearing the air in front of my face.

"What sort of vessel is this?" Godric asked, his disembodied voice somewhere near, though I couldn't see him.

"It's not a pirate ship... it's a cargo ship," I said, and easily leapt the distance from our own craft to the charred deck. Godric and Nora were close behind - one landing beside me, the other in front.

"Who would burn their own goods in this way?" Nora asked, sauntering around the bow.

"People who saw us approaching... people who don't like to share with pirates," I replied, staring up at the half-burned flag on the mast. Fifteen stars against a navy blue. Fifteen red and white stripes. What was left of it snapped in the angry sea wind. _American_.

"Search the hull," Godric called to us. "And be quick, children - the sun rises!"

* * *

I watch Sookie and Elsa embrace at the door as if they've known each other forever, as if they are family. I suppose that Sookie's warmth has this affect on most people. It's her own sort of glamour.

"I will see you tomorrow," Elsa says, her English halting and slow.

"You sure you don't want Eric to take you home? It's so dark," Sookie looks out into the relentless island night, concerned. I roll my eyes.

"I will be fine." She reaches out and strokes Sookie's cheek, like a mother would. "You take care of our Prince, yes?" She winks, conspiratorially.

Sookie laughs - nervous and dismissive. It bothers me even though I know it shouldn't. "Good night, Elsa," she says, and I'm thankful that she's ended the conversation before she can volunteer me for any more acts of chivalry.

"Good night, Miss Stackhouse. Good night, Prince Eric." Elsa nods at me, and wraps a worn shawl about her head. We watch as she hobbles down the front steps towards her little rusted Saab. I wave, Sookie waves... and then we stand side by side on the porch, our hands in our pockets, making sure our faithful, aging housekeeper gets into her car. It feels... surreally human.

"She reminds you of your grandmother," I say as the car rattles down the winding road, the headlights flashing one last time, and then disappearing into the velvet night.

"She does, yeah."

I think to say that I'm sorry for her loss. But it's been years, and I am... not versed in expressions of sympathy.

"I like Sweden," she says, saving the both of us the trouble.

Her confession takes me off guard; I frown. "Oh?"

"I can't hear them... Well, I mean, I _can_ hear them... but it's in another language. No one _thinks_ in English. It's so... so..."

"Refreshing?" I finish the thought for her.

"Yeah." She smiles. "I don't have to work to keep them out. I just listened to her murmur... all day long. Couldn't understand a word. Coulda been about me... coulda been about the weather."

"Background noise."

"Exactly." She beams at me, her relief palpable.

I look away, avoiding her joy. It makes me vulnerable. "An old friend of mine is visiting tonight. I thought you should know."

Sookie's smile droops, but I can see she's trying to look happy about it. "An old friend... like... a woman?"

I stare down at her, the corners of my mouth twitching. She's jealous. It's fantastic. "You'll see," I say knowingly.

And I leave her on the porch, with the bitter taste of her own medicine.

* * *

He arrives out of the darkness around nine like a ship on a distant shore. I feel his peace long before I see him walking up the path to the house.

Sookie watches me, her hands fiddling with themselves. She stands up from her seat at the kitchen table, trembling, looking frozen in time like a Hitchcock heroine - somehow bold _and_ afraid.

His knock is soft on the wood of the screen door.

She gulps.

"Come in," I call to him, folding the newspaper in front of me, and he does, his footfalls as gentle as he is, his hat in his hand.

There is a pregnant silence in the house, as the two of us regard each other, and Sookie regards us both. My eyes grow blurry with old blood tears, burning as I fight them back.

"Broer," he says in Afrikaans, his voice as smooth and warm as it was the night he was turned. He touches his hand to his heart and his dark eyes meet mine.

"Bror," I reply, and mirror him, my hand over my own heart. _Brother._ I stand, and find I'm still a foot taller than him.

We are cautious, crossing the distance between us slowly at first, and then tumbling into each other's embrace. It has been decades, perhaps more, that I've let fill the gap between us. It has been too long, no matter how I calculate it. He holds me to him tightly.

"Dit het so lank...," he says, his voice just a whisper. _It has been so long..._

"I know. Forgive me... forgive me." We press our foreheads together, our hands on the back of each other's necks. It is the most peaceful moment I have had in years.

When we finally break our embrace, I glance at Sookie. She's still standing there stiffly next to the table, confused by my uncharacteristic warmth, I'm sure. I gesture to her. "Sookie Stackhouse."

He turns to her, his smile like a thousand suns. He takes off his hat. "Miss Stackhouse. A pleasure."

Nervously, she extends her hand, her face smeared with her best false grin to match his. "Pleasure's all mine, Mister..." Her eyes dart to mine, waiting for a proper introduction.

"Jelani Kuvali. But please - just Jelani," he says as he takes her hand. He clasps it between his own, feeling her strength, feeling her essence, as he always does, and he closes his eyes in contemplation. Sookie, volleying between trying not to be rude and trying to adhere to human social norms, stares at him. She swallows in the silence, blinking hard, the awkward smile still plastered on her lips.

Inside, I'm smirking. I do so love to watch her squirm.

Jelani opens his eyes, his expression reverent and excited, as if he's had a revelation. He lets her go. "Ah. Fae. Weak at the moment, but fae through and through."

Sookie's charm drops. She looks at me, wide-eyed.

"Don't be alarmed, Miss Stackhouse," he assures her, his voice lilting with that same African accent I'd known centuries before. "I'm a doctor."

* * *

"Open wide. Good." The rubber glove snaps on his wrist. He brings the head light down to the middle of his forehead so that it shines directly into my gaping mouth. "Okay. Drop them."

My fangs descend with a pop. Sookie is just within my peripheral vision, her legs pressed tightly together, her dainty feet crossed that the ankle, her hands folded in her lap like a true lady. She watches intently as Jelani investigates, sitting up a little taller every so often to get a better view.

He pinches one fang and then the other, wiggling. "Just checking to see if they are loose... Any discomfort? Any issues with penetration?"

I shake my head _no_ , mouth still wide. I glance at Sookie. She nods, as if to reassure me.

"Lift it, like this-" He shows me what he means, then he reaches in and pulls my tongue to the right and the left. I wince at the feeling of someone manipulating my mouth in such a strange way. "Looking for any sores or discoloration," he explains.

"I didn't know vampires could get sores," Sookie says.

"Oh yes, my dear. Vampires are susceptible to a whole range of maladies... Cancers, sexually transmitted diseases, autoimmune disorders..." He gestures for me to close my mouth. "You though, are in fine order, sir," he smiles.

"Vampire cancer?" Sookie asks, still incredulous.

"Indeed." Jelani pulls off the rubber gloves, discarding them on the table. "Never terminal, of course... but grossly disfiguring. It's a well-guarded secret of vampire society." He shakes his head. "We're a prideful lot."

"That's insane," she says, her eyebrows arched.

"You'd do well to keep that all to yourself," I suggested.

"Oh, far be it from me to put my life in even _more_ danger." She rolls her eyes at me.

"And you? How are you feeling, Ms. Stackhouse?" He leans closer to her, ignoring our banter, his expression one of sincere concern. I wonder if she has ever met a vampire so human. I know that in all of my centuries, I haven't.

"I'm okay." She clears her throat nervously. "I'm fine. I'm per-"

"She lost the light," I correct her.

Sookie cuts a glare at me that would kill, if killing me was possible.

Jelani frowns. "You lost the ability to use your telekinetic light?"

Sookie sits back in her chair. "Tele...?"

"Telekinetic light. It's a common power to all fae. How long ago did you lose it?"

Sookie grimaces, reaching back in her memory. "I dunno... a few months ago, it started getting spotty. Now I can't conjure it up at all."

"Hmm. Well, I've seen this before... no worries, no worries." Jelani turns from her, digging around in his doctor's bag. "I had the pleasure..." He pauses when he finds the instrument he was looking for. "Of living among some of the last fae on earth. Recently, in fact."

I find myself annoyed that he'd never shared this information with me, but I grudgingly understand why.

"I... I thought they were all called back," Sookie looks at me, confused. "To Fairyland... or whatever."

"Not everyone obeyed Mab's call. There's a clan in Ireland, on Lundy Island. A very old fae family. Quite in-bred now, keeping the blood line as pure as they have." He finally pulls what appears to be a... _violet wand_ from the bag. I wince and think to ask, perhaps, what he plans to do with it. The notion of Sookie and sex toys is a pleasant one, in and of itself... however, it's hardly the time.

"Arm out please, Miss Stackhouse," he says, and continues nonchalantly. "They've inhabited Lundy Island since the beginning of recorded history. A fascinating people, they are."

Sookie holds her arm out warily. "But you're a vampire."

"I am, I am. But I'm also something of an-" He twirls the air with the wand, searching for the right word. "Insatiable archeologist. I worked alongside them, I lived among them. I earned their trust."

Sookie shrugs. It's not the strangest thing either of us have heard in our time.

"The case there, on Lundy Island, was similar to yours. A sputtering, and then a complete loss of the light. But it's hardly permanent." He pats his upper thighs and scoots his chair closer to where Sookie sits. "Alright! This might feel strange, but it will not hurt, you have my word." She glances at me with a _help me, you bastard_ look.

"You might wish to shield your eyes, Eric," he says.

I don't though, and watch as he brings the wand to her arm... runs the tip all the way down to her hand. Jelani turns his head.

Sookie's light explodes from her fingers then - the house blindingly bright with the burst of her power. The electricity pops and fizzes in response, the little light above the kitchen swaying and buzzing with charge. All of the clocks, the appliances, everything shuts down as if there's been a short in the grid.

I blink away the spots and shadows that move across my vision.

Jelani smiles and laughs. "Yes! You see? It can be fixed!"

Sookie sits, stunned into a rare silence. The power slowly comes back to the house - a light here and there, the blinking timer on the stove, the temperature gauge on the far wall.

"I imagine that your... _blockage_ is psychological. Some trauma, perhaps? An inciting incident which prevents you to fully engaging with your talents?" he asks.

Sookie doesn't say a word. Her jaw clenches and she looks away.

"There was... a lot going on... when we left," I tell him.

He looks Sookie over and nods.

* * *

"Really?" She pulls the blanket up over her head like a hood.

Jelani smiles, his brilliant white teeth flashing in the light from the fire place. He tells her our story, animated and verbose. "Yes. He was. I'll never forget seeing this -" He gestures at me, silly. "This _big bastard_."

I smile too, rubbing my eyes.

Jelani is suddenly serious. His recollection turns dark. "So many died. So many."

Sookie frowns.

"We were chained... all of us. Chained to the ship, chained to each other." The flames throw dancing shadows on his face. He shakes his head, slowly. "They were all dead. I was _mostly_ dead. The smoke and the starvation and the conditions... No living thing would have made it through _that_. We were treated... we were treated as if we weren't alive at all."

Sookie wraps the blanket more tightly around herself. Her eyes are glassy. "They burned the ship? With all of you in it?"

"Yes. If they were to be overtaken by pirates... better to destroy it all, I suppose?" He sighs, and it's strange - to see a vampire sigh. "I'll never understand it. The taking of life in such a... frivolous way."

He looks at both of us; me, in the leather recliner, and Sookie, curled up on the loveseat across from the hearth. "But that night, I was chosen. I was reborn," he says.

"Godric," she replies, almost reverently.

Jelani smiles again. "Godric."

"I'm sorry," she adds. "I'm so sorry, Jelani. For what happened to you."

He stares at her. I think, for a moment, that he might cry. He touches just above his long-quiet, and somehow tender, heart. Just as he did for me when we greeted each other.

"Thank you, Miss Stackhouse," he whispers.

"I was there, when he passed on. Godric, I mean."

"Were you?" He doesn't seem surprised. "And was my father at peace with the True Death?"

"He was. He was beautiful," she says, her voice cracking. A tear runs down her cheek then. I have to look away.

But Jelani smiles, and reaches for Sookie's hand.

* * *

"Leave him," Nora said. Her tone was flippant, as always. "He's half-dead. He'll taste terrible."

But something held me to the spot. I stared down with her into the hull. The bodies, the stench, the death... it reminded me of my days in plague-ridden cities. That had been the only time I'd found it hard to be immortal, strangely enough; while I stood, strong and alive and guilty, amidst all the dying.

Godric came between us and looked. I felt his disappointment; it rolled off him in waves. I felt his sadness in my own blood. He was sorry... for the human race, for all of the needless pain and suffering they brought down on each other... perhaps even for what _we_ , as vampires, had brought down on them.

The man Nora had told me to leave alone, moved. His was the only movement among the dead.

Godric looked up at the sky, squinting. "We have so little time. Help me, Eric." He leapt down into the hull, among the bodies and the waste.

"What are you going to do?" I asked, following him.

"He needs to be turned before the sun rises," Godric replied, as if it was the most logical route.

"Turn him? But... he is... he's dying already." Nora stammered, insulted by the idea.

Godric's face seemed to glow in the darkness. He turned his steady gaze on her. "And you? Were you not dying? Did I not turn you?"

"I -"

"You imagine that your mortal life was more valuable? Because you were mistress to a king? Because you were not trapped, suffocating, in a burning ship? Have you lost so much of your humility, Nora?"

She shut her mouth and crossed her arms, turning away from the hull in a huff.

Godric's attention was on the chains that held the dead together. He yanked, once, and then twice, breaking a heavy link. "The change is bad for some of us," he said, so quietly I barely heard him over the waves that sloshed against the ship. "Nora has forgotten herself. She has forgotten what made her worthy of _the gift_. Do not forget, Eric. Not ever."

I touched his arm, stopping his feverish work on the chains. "Why though? Why are you doing this?"

He looked at me, his wide blue eyes imploring me to understand, to feel. " _Because_ , my son. There will come occasions, during your time, when you must do what is right... without any regard for yourself."

* * *

Sookie is asleep on the loveseat in the parlor. She breathes through her mouth, murmuring every so often. Her dreams must be pleasant; it's the first time in days that I have seen her face relax. Jelani and I had ceased conversation some time ago.

He watched me now, watching her.

I avert my eyes. He already knows though. He knows without me having to say anything - he would be able, I'm sure, to read it in my body, in my mannerisms, in every micro-interaction that passes between me... and her.

I stand and nod towards the kitchen.

On our way out, I reach under the lamp shade on the side table and turn it off. The parlor walls flicker with shadows. We leave Sookie there to sleep in the firelight.

* * *

Jelani empties a bag of donor blood into two tea cups. He's careful to put more into mine than his own. This is who he is.

He props himself up on the countertop as he waits for the blood to heat up in the microwave (just to 100 degrees, and no more, or it will coagulate into a gelatin). He catches the machine before it beeps, and hands one of the hot cups to me.

I hold the porcelain, feel it's weight. I think to myself that Elsa would be furious right now - heating up such priceless china in a damn microwave.

Jelani appraises me from the other side of the dark little kitchen. He drinks his own blood, thoughtful. I feel his eyes on me, I feel his unvoiced questions bearing down.

"Is it so obvious?" I finally ask.

"It is," he replies.

I set the tea cup down. "You think I'm foolish."

"I don't. She's set apart. It's a shame there are not more like her. If there were... our world would have hope." He takes another polite sip and then rests the cup on the matching saucer.

"Nora was a Sanguinista."

Jelani is still for a moment and then he shakes his head. "I can't say I'm surprised." He finishes his blood and then dabs his lips with a paper towel. "She was always lacking something. How exhausting it must be to have no sense of self."

He's right about her, of course. Nora was lost from the moment she was turned. I feel compelled to defend her, somehow. Her nature is not necessarily evil, although she's easily swayed to such acts. She's just an eternal child who refuses to know her own strength, even now, centuries after her rebirth. She should never have been made a vampire.

My sister... _our_ sister. Godric's only mistake.

"Eric... brother... What weighs on you?" Jelani asks, his voice fearful.

And like a good Catholic in confession, I tell him about everything. The Authority, the Sanguinistas, Bill... Lillith's blood. The frenzied massacre in the streets of New Orleans. I tell him that the Authority is dead, that they'd turned on each other like a den of snakes. I tell him that Bill Compton, an enemy and a friend, is now something unrecognizable... and that we had to run, Sookie and I. We _had_ to run. We should have kept running. We could run forever and it would never be far enough.

"I think... I think it's the end of times," I say, trying hard not to sound dramatic. I fail.

His fingers tap the edge of the little kitchen table. He considers everything I've said quite seriously, though it must sound insane. "You say... this... _Bill Compton_ destroyed the True Blood factories?"

I nod, closing my eyes and rubbing the bridge of my nose. This is the closest I've come to a headache in about ten centuries.

"And he's now... possessed by?" He pauses strangely, disbelieving.

"Lillith. The spirit of Lillith." I stare at him.

After a moment, Jelani pats his knees. "Well. This is certainly... a lot, to take in." He rises, and I stand with him. We regard each other in the dim light. "Vampire possession... This is new for me."

I look down. "I should have done more. To stop this. Stop him."

Jelani shakes his head. "Vi kan inte kontrollera andra-"

"Bara våra reaktioner på dem," I finish the sentence. _We cannot control others - only our reactions to them._ It was one of Godric's favorite lines when I'd grow frustrated with Nora, The Authority, or any other sentient being that got in my way. "Are you staying?" I ask.

"In town," he says. And it reassures me. "With your permission, I'd like to contact some of my colleagues... about this most unique case."

"Of course."

He shakes my hand, and pulls me down to meet his embrace once again. I hug him, reluctant to let go. He feels my fear and strokes the back of my head. "Do not worry, brother. You always find a way. Always."

* * *

I close the front door as quietly as I can after I see Jelani out. The deadbolt clicks into place. I felt Sookie and all of her anger behind me the second she stepped into the foyer. I don't turn to face her, cannot force myself to face her. I'm exhausted. I touch my forehead to the door and wait.

"How many, Eric?" Her voice is more controlled than I imagined it would be.

She must be _on fire_.

"You were listening."

"How many?" She demands again.

"I'm not sure. One hundred. Perhaps more."

"How many did _you_ kill?"

There is so much hate in her. I close my eyes. "Twenty-three," I say quietly.

When she doesn't respond, I turn to her, slowly.

We stare at each other. She stands in the dark hallway; barefoot, with her arms crossed over her chest. "You're disgusting," she says.

And in that moment, nothing at all could have cut me deeper than her words.

 _Disgusting._

I know that Godric would agree with her.

* * *

 _But what and how_

 _To find us now_

 _When we've become two_

 _Fluorescently blue_

 _Down the neon river._

 _The sadness canoes,_

 _Either without or with her._

 _When a good man and a good woman_

 _Can't find the good in each other,_

 _Then a good man and a good woman_

 _Will bring out the worst in the other,_

 _The bad in each other._


End file.
